


Masculinity and Movement

by cheapcatfood



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ballet!Frank, Cigarettes, Frank is a Ballet dancer, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Jokes, Shenanigans, Swearing, Trans Male Character, Trans!Mikey, Vaguely referenced shitty families, auther is trans mlm, author did Ballet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26845876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheapcatfood/pseuds/cheapcatfood
Summary: “Pretty boy?” Frank is glad stage makeup is too thick to show that he’s blushing.“That’s the whole point of Ballet, right, to be pretty? And you’re a boy, so I’m simply stating the truth,” he pauses and inhales before letting smoke out slowly, smiling sharply, “I’m sorry, did you think I meant something else?”Frank is a Ballet dancer in his last year of high school and Mikey is taking a gap year to save up money for college. They both help each other comes to terms with parts of themselves that they didn't have the courage to face alone. Lots of shenanigans also occur with pregnancy pranks, Mario Kart violence, and getting kicked out of restaurants.I'm @himbojesus and this was beta'd by @projektgerard on Twitter, go give her a follow, she's wonderful!!!
Relationships: Frank Iero/Mikey Way
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	1. A Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to this little fic of mine. I had the idea of working through some of my own struggles of masculinity, being trans, and still loving Ballet through my favorite guys. I hope this makes anybody fearing parts of themselves get a little bit more comfortable with themselves too, we all deserve to love ourselves.

Frank tugs his warm-up clothes on as fast as possible, zipping his jacket up as he slips out the side door no one uses. He can hear music stop and yelling start, so he turns to shut the door as gently as possible, hoping desperately not to be noticed. It’s not that he doesn’t love Ballet, but the people can be tiring, and dress rehearsals are just ten hours of having to be around all of them. He just needs to get away from it all for a moment before going back in. They’re rehearsing four scenes without him right now anyways, so even if they want him to be in the building nobody should notice that he’s not there.

No one will know, they all avoid this alley because the sheltered little pricks think that the old opera house next door houses “filthy criminals” or something like that. It was turned into a place for wayward teens, performances, skateboarding, and graffiti. It’s called The Phoenix and Frank thinks it’s pretty fucking cool looking but he knows better than to say anything like that to the others.

The cool night air is refreshing against his flushed and slightly sweaty skin. The month of this show is really going to up his stamina. He’d been literally dripping sweat onto the stage earlier and this was just dress. The girls had just been more difficult to spot for today, so all of his muscles felt tense and shaky, the sheer adrenaline from the niggling fear of dropping them keeping his movements sharp and eyes bright. They’re all just so fucking bitchy. They’re just tired and then just fucking assume that he can do all the heavy lifting for their leaps. Sometimes he really wants to just let them fall flat on their faces, but he would get murdered by David so there’s no way he’s risking that.

The side door to the opera house opens and light spill out as a tall figure steps into the alley with him. He’s looking down at his phone, hair falling across his forehead. With tight jeans and a long coat, Frank thinks he’s beautiful.

“Hello,” fuck that’s such an awkward way of introducing himself. The guy looks up sharply with shock, his expression guarded.

“Hi. Are you one of those Ballet dancers?” His tone is cold and clipped, he looks like he’s considering walking back inside. Frank isn’t sure why he wants him to stay so badly but he does.

“Yeah. My name’s Frank, I hope you don’t mind me borrowing the alley to hide from some of them?” he asks, even though technically it’s also his building’s alley and Frank is being an idiot. A big dumb gay idiot.

“Depends on if you’re going to call me slurs,” the guy says, staring him down.

“What? Why the fuck would I do that?” Frank says loudly in shock, trying not to shout and alert the other dancers he’s outside.

“Because I’m trans and Ballet is fucking transphobic.” Oh.

“Oh, okay fair,” the other person’s face twists and Frank panics as he realizes how that sounds, “I just mean I’m gay and I get it! I don’t care about that, but it’s fair because those assholes usually do.” Frank rushes out quickly.

“Well, say I believe you Frank, why do you still dance with them then?” They say sharply and he feels like he’s on very thin ice right now.

“Because I love to dance. Being able to move with the music and just truly be, it’s fucking everything. I know probably more than you do how awful these people can be, but this is where I feel like I can become something more than myself. I just, I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to understand.” As Frank talks, he sees a glimpse of something in the other’s expression, but it’s gone before he can decipher it.

“Mikey.”

“Mikey?”

“My name,” they say, turning and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from their jacket pocket.

“Cool, uh, pronouns?” Frank feels stupid and exposed for asking but Mikey said they were trans, so he really doesn’t want to be an ass and mess it up. Mikey’s eyes flick up and down Frank, considering him, and Frank feels like they can see right through him.

“He/him, if you use anything else Ray will punch you in the throat.” Mikey grins threateningly but says it entirely deadpan, lighting his cigarette with a small black lighter. Frank desperately tries to ignore how attractive he finds that and focuses instead on thinking about Miss and her rulers.

“Noted.” Frank is terrified of this guy. He knows he shouldn’t be talking to him; his parents would hate the idea of him speaking to anyone from The Phoenix, but he’s graduating this year anyways and he’s tired of doing what they say.

Mikey is looking up at the stars, the lights of the streetlamps tracing the sharp lines of his face. He looks ethereal and Frank feels like he’s an exposed livewire simply speaking to him. It’s insane because he never gets this nervous, but something about him just seems to get to him. He should really go back inside before David finds out he left, and he gets torn a new one, but he feels stuck in place with the energy of this moment. He’s an idiot, just watching Mikey as he smokes, but he doesn’t know what else to say and is afraid to break the silence.

Mikey turns and looks at him after a moment, letting a long puff of smoke out. Frank really needs to not stare at his lips, he barely knows this guy. Mikey seems to consider something before turning more towards him. He walks closer to Frank, his footsteps making gravel crunch, each sound overwhelming to his ears. He can no longer hear the traces of classical music from inside the building. His entire world is narrowed to Mikey’s approaching figure and his piercing eyes. He stops what feels like only a few measly inches from Frank’s face.

“Want a drag?” Mikey asks, each word rolling off his lips.

“I uh- I can’t” Frank stutters, still caught in the other’s eyes.

“Can’t or shouldn’t?” he asks.

“Can’t- I. Listen, just the people that I’m with don’t like this sort of thing.” His heart is pounding. The door to the building seems farther away than it was earlier.

“Well, they don’t like us either, pretty boy.” He smirks, stepping back and away and taking another drag, his long pale fingers wrapped delicately around the cigarette. Frank finally feels like he can breathe again, but he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that the other stepped away.

“Pretty boy?” Frank is glad stage makeup is too thick to show that he’s blushing.

“That’s the whole point of Ballet, right, to be pretty? And you’re a boy, so I’m simply stating the truth,” he pauses and inhales before letting smoke out slowly, smiling sharply, “I’m sorry, did you think I meant something else?”

“Uh.” Frank is so out of his depth. Mikey huffs out a little laugh, shaking his head lightly.

“I’m just messing with you.”

“Okay, I-” a voice cuts him off from inside before he can continue.

“FRANK IERO, STAGE LEFT” David yells over the center’s speaker system. Frank cringes and turns to leave before David hunts him down and hangs him from the rafters.

“Wait,” Mikey says softly, his tone entirely different from its teasing notes of earlier.

“I’m sorry I really have to go, fuck, it was nice to meet you Mikey.” His hand is on the doorknob when he hears gravel crunching again, but his fear of David outweighs his curiosity in Mikey. He also isn’t sure that if he turns to look now, he may not have the strength to go back inside.

The door shuts behind Frank and he doesn’t see the way Mikey’s arm was outstretched towards him, unsaid words on his lips. He just pushes the thoughts of cigarettes, sharp cheekbones, and starlight out of his mind as he picks up the pace and runs towards the wings.

-

It’s about two hours later when the dress rehearsal finally packs up nearing midnight. Frank loves Ballet with his whole heart but after high school he will not miss the late nights and tears. The fucking Nutcracker too is just absolute insanity. Sure, he’s grateful that he gets to play a lead, but it means he almost never has time to socialize during the show season. Again, he won’t miss this aspect of Ballet. Nor will he miss the shitty opinions of those he dances with. Only six months more and then he’s free. So close and yet so far away.

He steps out the main doors that let out onto the street, just a few blocks from his house. His parents don’t care when he gets home as long as he performs well. That’s just fine to him, he doesn’t care what they think as long as he can leave the second he graduates. Everybody else left before he did because David was angry about him taking a break and decided to keep him to run through all of his parts again alone. That bastard watched him and made him restart every time he stumbled or messed up at all. The general rehearsal had been ten fucking hours and that was after the warm-up classes before. His limbs are jelly, his eyes are tired and he just wants to scrape the makeup off his face and collapse into bed.

“Pretty boy!” A voice shouts from behind him. He jumps and twists, seeing Mikey poking his head out of the doors to The Phoenix.

“Mikey, hey what’s up?” Frank calls back, starting to walk towards the opera house. He was tired before but now he feels awake and alive, invigorated with curiosity in the person that is Mikey. He stops in front of the wide glass doors covered in worn band stickers, Mikey leaning against the opening.

“I just think you seem like someone I’d like to know,” Mikey says, smiling almost shyly.

“I think I’m pretty rad,” Frank replies grinning. He’s never been this close to The Phoenix in all his years dancing next door. It was always the mysterious place for punk teens that was always just a bit too far out of his reach but now, with just a smile and a few words his way, he’s standing on the threshold of what feels like a lifetime. He thinks with Mikey here with him that might be a good thing.

“Hey, uh, could I show you around The Phoenix tomorrow? You could meet some of my buddies, I think they’d like you,” Mikey asks, leaning slightly forwards as he says the words.

“I- Fuck, tomorrow is opening night,” Mikey’s face falls just slightly as Frank says the words and he scrambles to think of a solution and bring the subtle smile back onto his face, “but after the matinee show on Sunday I could come by, I mean, if you’re free.” Mikey’s face brightens just slightly with those words and Frank feels irrationally proud of himself.

“Yeah, yeah I’m around on Sunday, you might just get dragged into stuff with the idiots.” Mikey grimaces.

“The idiots?”

“The twats I regrettably call my friends,” Mikey says. Frank is trying hard not to laugh at the look on Mikey’s face.

“Dude, I think if you’re friends with them, you’re probably an idiot too,” Frank says.

“Hey!” Mikey is grinning but he still shouts in protest before jabbing Frank sharply in the ribs. Frank gives up and then just starts laughing loudly.

“Ow! Do you jab all your new friends?” Frank squeaks while trying to dodge more of the surprisingly painful strikes.

“I bet you wish I did,” Mikey mutters.

“Be your friend? Well I mean, uh,” he’s rambling, fuck. Mikey snorts loudly.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Mikey grins and Frank feels stupid until suddenly he gets it and blushes fiercely. His makeup has definitely worn off too much to properly cover his blush if the smug look on Mikey’s face is anything to go by, damn.

Frank yawns abruptly and against his will. Well shit, that was rude. There’s not much he can do though; a full day of rehearsals is starting to hit him again and make his limbs feel like fucking lead.

“Frank, how long were you dancing for?” Mikey asks.

“Uh, shit, I think around thirteen hours. I mean, I’m not on stage the entire time but I danced a good chunk of that.” He’s mentally trying to add up the breaks he got to subtract it from the total when he notices how shocked Mikey looks.

“What the fuck? Why the fuck are you talking to me? Go the fuck to bed!” Mikey says looking concerned and seems to be frantically checking him over like he’s going to fall over and die.

“I’m talking to you because I like talking to you,” now it’s finally Mikey’s turn to blush lightly, “but you’re right, I probably should go to bed. I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Yeah, Sunday.”

Frank does a little awkward wave and Mikey shakes his head and laughs a bit before turning and letting the door to The Phoenix shut behind him. Frank watches him walk away for a moment before shaking his head and turning to walk towards home.

Home and sleep.

If he spends the time between laying his head on the pillow and falling asleep thinking about piercing eyes and light laughter, well, he’s simply human.


	2. Handprint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter was going to have a few more scenes initially, but it got a bit out of control, so look out for another chapter soon! I hope you enjoy. <3333

Frank knows it’s a dick move to leave right as the show is ending, but it’s the best way to avoid being dragged into after-show celebrations. He doesn’t even like the other dancers, but he also knows protesting plans too much is his best way to get shit positions at the barre during class and uncooperative partners on stage. He just wishes social status didn’t matter so damn much for how people danced with each other but it makes a lot of sense, Ballet is pure emotion and passion so of course your opinions of other people will reflect how you perform with them, even if you mean to or not.

He rushes into his dressing room, there’s barely any men dancers and he’s the only one at his level so he gets his own room, to get dressed. His stage-makeup looks absurd and partially gone from sweat but to avoid the others he’ll just have to clean it off when he gets to The Phoenix. They have him wearing foundation, contour, double-winged eyeliner, lipstick, and fake eyelashes. It looks absurd but it’s the only way for people to be able to see your face onstage, the lights make you look dead, and at least it’s taught him how to do a wicked wing.

Dancing all weekend in fancy clothes made him hate the idea of jeans, so Mikey will simply have to deal with him in relaxed clothes. He already left his bodice on the rack, so he pulls off his tights and Ballet flats and shoves them deep in his bag. They fucking stink but there’s nothing he can do about it now. His dance belt is basically a thong so that works for underwear, so he just pulls his warm-up pants on and a worn pale blue t-shirt. Flip-flops for his sore feet and now he’s pretty sure he’s good to go.

One sniff-test later and Frank is spraying some emergency deodorant to try to spare Mikey at least a bit. Oh well, Mikey was around him after the dress rehearsal the other day and he didn’t smell peachy then either. Frank usually doesn’t care about sparing people’s noses, but for some reason he just really wants to impress Mikey. Honestly, he doesn’t really want to examine his reasons just yet. Might as well see how hanging out with the guy goes first.

Frank slings his stinky bag over his shoulder and slips out the door, keeping his head down as he walks down the backstage corridor towards the same door he went through before. He’s so close to freedom when it happens.

“Iero,” David says behind him. Fuck. He plasters an insincere smile on his face and turns to greet his devil of a dance teacher.

“David, what do you need?” Please say nothing, please just let me go. The guy looks as creepy as ever with his unkempt beard and weirdly toned legs matched with a hanging beer-belly.

“You dance as Balanchine would have wanted.” David nods once, gruffly, before turning and ambling away. Frank is fucking reeling. As Balanchine would have wanted? His heart fills with warmth and fear as he thinks about the expectations of those around him. He’s going to let everyone down, now apparently the fucking ghost of Balanchine too.

He snaps back into focus as someone shoves by him with a pancake tutu and the stiff texture scrapes his arm. The remaining distance to the side door is short and he pushes out into the alley with ease, the early afternoon light shining into his eyes.

The door falls shut behind him and he lets out a gust of air, falling back to lean against the rough brick of the wall. A million thoughts are racing through his mind and he feels fucking electrified. Balanchine. David was one of the last people to dance with him before he died so it’s not an empty compliment. He dances as the father of American Ballet would have wanted. The man changed the face of Ballet and one of his fucking students thinks that he danced how he would have wanted.

He feels sick.

He doesn’t want to go professional. He wants to go to college, have time to himself, play guitar, fuck around with friends. Friends. He barely even has any friends, all his time spent in classes and rehearsals from such a young age, his school peers don’t even talk to him because he’s just that weird Ballet guy who’s always gone for shows.

Frank shoves himself away from the wall harshly. He needs to get himself together, it’s just a damned compliment. Probably the best compliment he’s ever received. He just performed great all weekend and now he’s going to hang out with the first real friend he might have made in years. Be happy Frank, come on. At least if he lets down one more person this one is already dead and can’t look at him disappointed when they find out.

Walking across the alleyway he hesitates. Is it weird to go in through the side door? He didn’t warn Mikey that he can’t be seen going into The Phoenix, so the dude doesn’t even know that he’s coming in this way. Oh well. He steels himself and grabs the knob.

It’s locked. Fuck.

He leans his head briefly against the grimy door covered in faded band stickers and sighs. Hopefully, Mikey will hear him eventually if he just starts knocking. It’d be a bit awkward if someone random opened the door to find him, but he supposes that would work too.

He’s on his fourth round of knocking when the door pushes open and Frank stumbles backwards, barely avoiding falling on his ass. It’s Mikey, and he looks a little confused and slightly annoyed until he registers that it was Frank knocking insistently on the alley door.

“Did you forget where the front door was or are you just nostalgic for our first meeting?” Mikey asks, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. He somehow manages to make a smirk look fond.

“Very funny, actually I just uh- I just can’t be seen going here.” Frank pushes out, knowing it sounds shitty. Sure enough, Mikey’s expression shutters just slightly, but enough that Frank can tell he doesn’t appreciate this.

“Right, you don’t want to be associated with the likes of me, you’re so good at playing the nice little straight boy, aren’t you? All clean and put together, always doing what’s expected of you, pretty boy?” Mikey spits out.

“Yeah, I am good at playing it, and I’m fucking sick of it.” Mikey seems slightly shocked at him admitting to it and Frank just keeps going, “I told you I don’t want to be around any of them but you could never understand why I need to hide.”

“Maybe I don’t right now, but you could help me understand.” Mikey says, staring him straight in the eyes. The air feels charged around them.

“It’s a tangled mess of reasons but the biggest one is my parents. I couldn’t- I could never- it wouldn’t end well for them to know I was here.” Frank says the last part quietly. Whatever magic Mikey must have to get him to open up so fast, he’ll never know. But now the words are out, and they hang in the air between them, a moment of truth.

Mikey’s face softens and he starts to open his mouth before shaking his head lightly. His hair looks soft as it moves in the light. Instead of saying anything, Mikey seems to realize that enough words have been said for now and simply pushes the door open wider and steps to the side, a silent invitation. Frank feels a wave of relief wash over him with the silent acceptance and he steps forward into the musty air of the old opera house.

The alley door opens to a little room with couches falling apart at the seams. There’s graffiti all over the furniture, walls, and ceiling. The art overlaps and weaves with band stickers and messages from past performers, giving Frank the feeling that just stepping foot inside the place is being a part of something greater. It’s nothing like the cushy and clean dressing rooms across the way and he loves it.

“This is the green room, it’s kind of shit but it’s our shit so be nice.” Mikey says as he lets the door fall shut behind him and comes to stand next to Frank.

“Are you kidding? This is rad!” Frank exclaims and runs over to the nearest wall, running his fingers reverently along the lines of paint.

“Uh, you may not want to touch the walls of this place pretty boy, it’s not as clean as you’re used to.”

“A little dust won’t hurt me, Mikey.” Frank huffs. He’s not that pampered, jeez.

“I meant more like the years’ worth of drugs, sweat, and jizz covering this place but be my guest.” Mikey says deadpan. Frank jumps back like he’s been shocked and looks at his hand in slight fear. Mikey snorts at his action and moves over to the entryway leading out to the rest of the building.

“Come on, there’s a bathroom upstairs, I’ll show you the way so you can wash your delicate little hands.” Mikey walks out as he talks, and Frank follows behind him. They step out onto the stage and Frank gets his first real look at the place.

It’s incredible. The ceiling rises high above them and is covered in meticulous classical art from times long gone when it was a true opera house. The first floor seems to have had all the traditional seating removed and now it’s simply smooth wooden floors with ramps set up for skateboarding along the walls. Years of layered graffiti covers the entire place, and the stage looks worn and well-loved. Whoever takes care of it all does an incredible job at mixing the old and the new.

Mikey ducks behind a small satin black curtain and Frank follows through it to see a cramped staircase that sneaks by the side of the stage and leads down to the general standing area. There’s also a door that Frank’s kind of curious about off to the side, but his grimy hand is the more pressing issue right now, so he just silently follows Mikey up and across the floor to the lobby.

The lobby is covered in even more band stickers and graffiti, and there’s a line of arcade machines against the wall that separates the lobby and the auditorium. This place is so fucking cool. He can’t believe that he’s been dancing next door for most of his life and has never even stepped foot in here. What a shame. Plus, he could’ve potentially met Mikey years ago.

“Come on.” Mikey says when he notices that Frank had stopped to ogle the arcade machines. He looks a little smug, like he’s taking pride in just how impressed Frank is. That’s honestly completely fair, he has the complete right to gloat about this place because it’s just so fucking cool.

“Yeah, just, fuck this place is cool.” Mikey grins at that, wide and toothy.

“It’s all thanks to Ray, you’ll meet him later, he’s practically my brother.”

Mikey goes up the stairs at that and Frank tries desperately not to get distracted by his very long and very nice legs.

Wait. Meet Ray? Practically his brother? Well fuck, he better make a good impression then. Once again Frank tries very hard to ignore thinking about why he wants to make a good impression and instead simply tries to focus on how good it is to hang out with someone not wearing a bun (even though Mikey would totally rock a bun).

Mikey puts a finger to his mouth when he reaches the top of the stairs and looks back at Frank. That’s a little weird, but okay. Maybe there’s an animal that sleeps up here or something? He ignores it and quietly follows Mikey into the men’s room, which is also covered in graffiti, and washes his hands quickly. This entire place seems covered in art, it’s beautiful. When they stop back out of the bathroom, he takes a moment to look at the walls. There’s a gorgeous skull painting surrounded by rainbow arcs following the curves of the wall. The ache in his chest to be somewhere where he feels like he belongs only grows stronger and he smiles to himself, a small private smile. A smile of hope, and for days to come. A smile for possibilities.

Mikey gestures with his head and they walk back down the steps together. At the bottom he puts out a hand signaling Frank to wait and ducks into a small closet in the lobby. Frank only has to wait a moment before he hears a small “aha!” and Mikey is emerging with two cans in his hands. Frank looks a little closer and realizes they’re cans of spray-paint; the nozzles coated with a bit of paint. Frank looks down at his worn warm-up clothes and shrugs, he figures it’s not the worst thing they’ve seen in their long lives.

“Have you ever spray-painted before, pretty boy?” Mikey asks, holding up the cans as a sort of challenge. Frank feels a flutter in his chest and ignores it as he smiles sharply.

“No, but I’m fucking excited to try.”

“Good answer.” Mikey grins back at him.

Mikey tosses one can to him and he catches it easily, looking down at the label with interest. Most of the design has faded and only the words “SILVER” in bold lettering remain. Alright, he can work with silver. Well, he can work with it as soon as he figures out how to use the damn thing.

Mikey shakes his can and starts heading back through the entryway to the main floor of the place. Frank thinks he’s going to stop and paint along one of the walls, but he keeps going backs over to the little staircase they went through earlier. Frank follows along behind him and stumbles a bit when Mikey stops abruptly in front of the door Frank saw earlier. He fishes a key out of the pocket of his very tight jeans and unlocks what looks like a heavy wooden door.

The door creaks open to reveal a narrow and worn stone staircase into the darkness of what he assumes is a basement, grooves worn from years of use. Mikey flicks on a light just inside on the wall and walks down the stairs. At the bottom he turns back to look at Frank who is still just standing in the doorway, very confused about what is happening.

“Come on pretty boy, I won’t murder you down here. Ray would have my ass for the mess that’d make.” Mikey says.

“Waste of a good ass.” Frank mumbles under his breath. Mikey cocks his head at him and Frank blushes furiously when he realizes he said that aloud. Mikey didn’t seem to hear him, thank fuck, and just shakes his head and sets his can on the ground, starting to roll up his sleeves.

Frank takes the plunge and starts down the concrete stairs, shutting the door behind himself, each step making the chill of the basement seek further into his bones. He hopes Mikey was serious about the not-murdering him thing, because this seriously seems like a great place to commit a murder. It would really suck if his first new friend in a while is just going to kill him in a basement, but he supposes he won’t be around to think about how much it sucks if he’s dead, so it doesn’t really matter.

This room is once again covered in graffiti. Damn, there doesn’t seem to be an inch in this space not coated in color, it’s fucking awesome. The floor has a layer of dust and there’s a small hatch in the left wall, along with a dark doorway in the far wall that leads somewhere he can’t see.

He walks over to the doorway and is peering inside when Mikey grabs his arm, pulling him back.

“There’s a 3ft drop dumbass, do you want to die?” Mikey says sharply. He’s trying to hide it, but Frank can hear the concern in his voice.

“I’m fine I swear, I’m sorry for worrying you,” he says in return. Mikey’s hand is still wrapped around his arm, his fingers lightly digging into his skin. His eyes are caught within Mikey’s, like the other is trying to see into him. Every point of contact is electric, and Frank is acutely aware of the heat seeping into his arm. He starts to realize something, some feeling in his chest, when Mikey drops his arm and pulls away.

“I wasn’t worried. C’mon, let’s start painting already.” Mikey goes back over to pick up his can from where he left it on the ground earlier and moves over to a section of wall with more faded art on it. Makes sense, paint over the older stuff first, keep it cycling. Pretty neat concept of a whole place. Frank never wants to leave. He looks down at the can in his own hand and frowns, just shake, point, and spray, right?

“Okay, how the fuck do I do this, and if I do it wrong, will it explode?” Frank says, only slightly joking. Mikey snorts.

“Point and spray, pretty boy, it’s not that hard. Try not to point it at yourself, some people do that their first-time.”

“How much of an idiot do you have to be to do that?” Frank asks, dumbfounded. Mikey stares at him for a long moment before his lip twitches and he laughs hard, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. “Hey! That was an actual question you prick!”

“I- I’m sorry, it’s just that my brother did that his first-time spray-painting.” Mikey says, giggling between words. His face is scrunched up adorably, and Frank feels warmth spreading in his chest hearing the sounds of his joy. Fuck, he barely knows this boy and he already makes him feel so warm. He’s so fucked.

“Aw, you were teaching your little brother how to spray-paint? That’s adorable, how old is he?” Frank asks, picturing a tiny version of Mikey failing to spray-paint. Mikey makes an aborted noise at his question and starts laughing so hard that he falls back to sit on the grimy floor as he gasps for breath. Frank is so confused.

“He’s,” another high-pitched giggle, “he’s 23, Frank.” Mikey is wiping tears from the corners of his eyes and chokes on his own breath as he registers the age.

“So, not little brother. Wait actually, hold the fuck up, how old are you?” Frank asks, feeling like a dumbass for not having gotten this very basic information before. He hopes he’s not too much older than him.

“I’m 19, just taking a gap year before college, what about you?” Mikey picks himself up off the floor, wiping at the back of his jeans as he talks. Frank tries desperately not to think about his very tight jeans again. Very distracting jeans.

“18, I’m a senior at the school down the road.” Frank says, internally, he is very thankful that Mikey is so close in his age to his own, it makes it much less weird that he likes his ass so much.

“So close, yet so far to freedom.” Mikey deadpans. Frank swats him on the arm, Mikey yelping and twisting away.

“Free enough to smack you if you keep being a snarky ass.” Frank says, laughing.

“But I thought I had a good ass?” Mikey asks innocently. Frank doesn’t realize for a moment what he’s talking about until he remembers his mumbled comment earlier that he didn’t think Mikey heard. Fuck.

“Uh.” His cheeks are bright red, he can fucking feel it. Mikey simply ignores him and turns to the wall, shaking his can as he goes.

“Simple rules: paint what you want, don’t be a cop, got it?” Mikey says, flashing him a sharp look before beginning to press down on the nozzle, the bright pink paint releasing with a pressurized hissing noise.

Frank watched, mesmerized, as fancy letters started to take shape. First a “P,” then an “R,” he’s excited to see what the final word will be.

It doesn’t click until Mikey is rounding out the “O,” because Frank is a certifiable idiot. “PRETTY BOY” stands in sharp, clean, beautiful letters against the wall and Frank is blushing harder than he ever has in his life. Spending time with Mikey seems to be dangerous for the blood in his body, all of it rushing places it shouldn’t normally be.

He needs to do something, say something, anything. Is this how friends operate? He doesn’t fucking know how friends talk. This is definitely more flirtatious then anything he’s dealt with before, but he’s basically only socialized with bitches in buns, so he has no fucking idea if he’s overreacting. He doesn’t want to be overreacting. He needs to do something.

Frank panics. He steps forward, shaking his can, hip checks Mikey, and proceeds to spray-paint the dumbest thing he could think of over the beautiful letters. A shiny, ginormous, silver penis. Why does he do this obviously idiotic thing? Because he is a flustered gay idiot and also obviously a 12-year-old boy at heart.

Once he finishes the tip of the large and very phallic shape, he turns to see Mikey’s reaction. Mikey’s mouth is hanging just slightly open, his picture the perfect face of shock. Frank snorts before he can stop himself. Mikey’s face starts to twist into annoyance.

“You little-” Mikey starts, but Frank cuts him off.

“I think it’s an improvement.” He says very seriously before properly registering the look on Mikey’s face and turning tail and running for his life. He just made a friend and now this friend is going to murder him for his penis-painting crimes. What a way to die. On his gravestone there will be the words “Frank Iero. Died from Gay Panic.”

He pounds up the staircase, hearing Mikey’s scrambling feet behind him and another sound he doesn’t quite identify. Mikey isn’t yelling or anything, but he can practically hear the indignant puffs of air from his nostrils as he stomps after him. He’s going to die.

He throws open the door and rips through the curtain onto the main floor of the building. Mikey is getting closer. He’s heading for the front doors when it happens.

Smack.

The sound resonates throughout the whole building, echoing off the walls. Frank stops. He turns, slowly, to see Mikey grinning and holding up his hand triumphantly. A hand that is covered in bright pink paint. A hand that just slapped Frank’s ass so loud the neighbors down the street probably heard it. His ass!

“What the fuck?” A voice says. Frank snaps his head in the direction of the voice and sees a pajama clad figure staring at them from the second-floor balcony.

“Good morning Ray, this is Frank, he’s paying for his crimes.” Mikey says deadpan, letting his pink hand drop to his side. Frank gives a little wave.

“Nice to meet you, Frank.” Ray says while sounding kind of resigned to whatever is happening.

“You too, I’ve heard good things.” Frank replies, trying to ignore his still slightly stinging ass.

“Thanks, I- Wait, crimes? Mikey, I told you I don’t want to hear about your kinks anymore.” Ray says, sounding annoyed. Frank starts and turns, looking at Mikey’s crotch before he can stop himself.

“My eyes are up here,” Mikey says to Frank lightly before turning towards Ray, “we’re not doing anything, and also that was one time. You asked a direct question and I answered.” Frank thinks idly that he would really like to know what Mikey’s answer was.

“Okay then, just, can you stop painting his body parts pink in my good Christian opera house?” Ray asks, exaggerating the last four words. Mikey snorts. Wait, painting body parts? He’s starting to process the pink hand and his stinging ass, really this had all happened so fast, when Mikey speaks.

“Yeah, this place just screams our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, doesn’t it?” Mikey says, looking pointedly over to wear “EAT ASS” is painted on the wall. Then, it clicks in Frank’s brain.

“You put a pink handprint on my ass!” Frank exclaims, pointing at Mikey. Mikey just looks at him like he’s surprised at how dumb he is to only realize this now, which, fair. He twists around to try to get a good look and there it is, a brilliantly pink Mikey-shaped-hand on his warm-ups.

“You put a penis on my pretty boy.” Mikey replies challengingly. Ray looks confused, yet once again resigned to this form of chaos coming from Mikey being around. He’s shaking his head while watching them, still in his pajamas on the second-floor overhang. The cherry-on-top for this absurd situation.

“You put a- Fuck, fuck, fuck, does this come out?” Frank curses and starts to poke at it before Mikey grabs his arm quickly.

“If you rub it in it’ll just get worse. I- I’m sorry, I didn’t think, you’re right that was fucking rude of me.” Mikey says. He looks ashamed and the hand that isn’t holding Frank’s arm is rubbing at the back of his neck in a nervous motion.

“Hey, I did panic, and spray paint a penis over your art, so as long as you help me get it out, I say we’re even.” Frank reassures. He doesn’t want Mikey to feel bad, he seems like a good guy.

“Uh.” Mikey just stares at him. Frank takes it back; Mikey is horrible, and he is so screwed.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, my parents are going to kill me.”

“I’m so sorry!”

“I just- fuck they’re actually going to skin me alive this is it, how the fuck do I explain this?”

“I’ll buy you new pants!”

“These are special Ballet warm-up we order online; they’ll notice if I don’t have them and I can’t replace them instantly, fuck!”

“Say someone stole them!”

“Who the fuck would steal my sweaty pants?”

“Someone who wants to see your ass!”

“What even-“

“Both of you shut up!” Ray shouts. Frank and Mikey jump, Mikey’s hand releasing from Frank’s arm, and turn in unison to see a very exasperated looking Ray. Frank desperately tries to ignore how he misses Mikey’s touch so strongly it’s like craving water on a hot day. Ray seems to have gotten dressed in the time that it took them to work themselves into a proper panic, so at least someone is getting something done.

Frank opens his mouth to continue panicking, but Ray cuts him off with an aborted arm motion.

“Just, stop. You two are so stupid,” Ray sighs and rubs at his forehead, looking very done with them, “Mikey, your brother is literally a professional artist.”

“So?” Ray gives him a warning glance for daring to speak after being told, repeatedly, to shut up.

“So, you dumb fuck, he knows how to get weird shit out of clothing.” Ray states it like it’s obvious, which for Mikey it probably should’ve been. Mikey seems to have a moment of clarity before blushing as though he is going through the realizations that not only he has had a likely solution the entire time, but also that he is being a bit of an imbecile.

“So, Frank, want to meet my idiot older brother?” Mikey asks, shifting his weight back and forth a bit nervously. Frank thinks meeting the older brother of the guy who just slapped his ass and left a bright pink mark sounds absolutely terrifying. Sadly, it seems like his only option. Maybe he needs to start considering the writing on his gravestone again.

Frank is staring into the distance thinking about the different options he has here and how likely each one is to lead to his own demise. His parents are guaranteed death, but they’re a known option, what if Mikey’s brother is worse? What if Mikey’s brother is really protective and works out a lot and sees Frank as ruining his innocence and, oh fuck, challenges him to a fight or something? Mikey doesn’t seem like the type to have that sort of older brother, nor does he seem particularly innocent, but Frank’s brain is working a million miles per hour imagining all the terrifying ways a more-buff-Mikey could rip him limb from limb. Ray laughs and Frank returns to the present.

“Dude, you look like you’re planning your own funeral, I promise Gerard is harmless.” Ray manages while still laughing. Mikey looks amused too and Frank is ready to spray-paint him too so he can feel Frank’s pain.

“I was not!”

“Was too,” Mikey replies.

“Was not!”

“Was too.”

“Was NOT!”

“Was too!”

“Was-”

“Shut up! How many times do I have to tell you two fucking idiots to shut it? Fuck!” Ray shouts. Frank tries to stop himself, he really does, but the look on Ray’s face just makes him lose it.

He bends over, hands on his knees, as he just laughs his fucking heart out. He can hear Mikey laughing next to him, the sound bursting and curling through his chest. He turns to see Mikey wiping away tears from his eyes, his face flushed and eyes bright, and thinks that he is the most beautiful person he has ever seen. He knows this probably won’t end in anything good but for right now, with a handprint on his ass and his lungs aching from laughter, he thinks that maybe, maybe this is just everything he’s been looking for.

Ray has just gone to grab his keys and gestures for them to follow, the two of them still chuckling slightly to themselves as Ray locks up the front doors and leads them to the nearby parking lot. Mikey is looking away from him, towards the shops along the other side of the street, and Frank just takes the moment to appreciate him. Sure, he’s pretty, but he’s also so warm and so bright, reaching out a hand to Frank to bring him into this wonderful world and holding him back from danger when he’s teetering at the edge. Ray too, a person that barely knows him, treating him like an old friend and so willingly changing his plans to help him. Frank doesn’t know what he did to deserve meeting these two, but he does know that he’s going to do his best to never let go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank meets Gerard and the four boys have some fun with Wii games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! Yes, most times men don't wear the traditional make-up look that I described but I do what I want (and it does happen sometimes). I hope you enjoy my gay yearning.

Mikey reaches out to unlock the front door, seeing Frank shifting nervously in the corner of his vision. Ray’s standing next to them both, looking tired yet also amused with the entire situation. What a way for Frank to meet the two of them, but Mikey figures it’s better than sexual tension in an alleyway.

He pushes the door open and steps in to see the living room empty. Of course, Gerard is probably off in his study, slaving away at his newest comic book or whatever the fuck he’s doing these days. All Mikey knows is that he’s tired of finding ink in his hair and doesn’t understand how charcoal from Gerard’s projects end up on his damn pillow. Still, he thinks as he sees the little messages his brother leaves for him stuck to the fridge, he loves his brother to death and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ray walks past him and into the apartment, practically another tenant with how much he’s over anyways, and goes off to find Gerard. He doesn’t say that, but Mikey knows him, and Ray knows that Mikey can’t be bothered to attempt to pry Gerard away from his work right now. Alas, Frank’s ass is pink, and Gerard seems to be his last hope. Honestly, Mikey quite likes his ass pink, it gives him an excuse to look at it. He wonders if Frank would ever let him paint other parts of his body pink.

The ass in question is still standing just in the hallway, looking petrified. The poor guy looks flustered every time Mikey tries to flirt with him, so he figures it makes sense that he would be terrified to meet his older brother, but Mikey has the advantage of knowing that Gerard is a dolt. At least, emotionally, he is. He already sees Frank as someone he wants to keep as a friend for a long, long time, but he also is wondering if they might mess around too. Mikey likes sex, and he likes friends, hopefully both will work in both of their interests.

Frank is just so beautiful. The first time Mikey saw him he thought he was imagining things, imagining an angel with slightly smeared lipstick and long eyelashes lined in sharp eyeliner. And today? Today Mikey was suffering seeing Frank in a short sleeve t-shirt. He did mention he dances a lot, but Mikey didn’t expect just how much lean definition would be there, or the elegant way he holds himself in even the simplest of movements. Even now, his frame stiff with apprehension, his shoulders are back and down, his neck long, his arms held loosely yet purposefully around his form. Frank moves with pure intent in his actions and Mikey is starting to fear how much he wants that intent to be focused on him. Yet when he looks at Frank that fear seems to vanish, and all that is left in its wake is a feeling in his chest pulling him closer, with each breath expanding and tightening. He wonders what will happen if he gives in.

Mikey can hear muffled arguing coming from the hall so he knows Gerard and Ray will come back soon. He goes to sit down and doesn’t bother to tell Frank to come in, it’s funnier this way anyways.

“Gerard, I will hide your favorite pencil for a week if you don’t drink a glass of water and eat some food,” Ray threatens, his voice coming closer.

“Not Petunia!” Gerard shouts. Mikey smiles to himself, he loves his brother and his funny little ways so much. Also, Petunia was the pencil Mikey bought for him for his last birthday.

Ray appears first around the corner; one hand being used to drag a petulant Gerard behind him. Gerard hasn’t noticed Frank yet, who is still standing in the doorway. Frank has definitely noticed Gerard though, and looks slightly less terrified than before. That’s fair. Gerard is still in pajamas, as he does often when he’s working from home and has no reason to wear real clothes. His hair is an absolute mess and Mikey is just glad that he remembers that Gerard showered only a few days ago. There are also charcoal stains on his nose and ear, which definitely adds to the completely harmless look.

Ray releases Gerard and goes into the kitchen to start making some food for them. He always does that, makes them all late lunch when he wakes up from his shift at The Phoenix. The only difference is now Frank is included in their little routine. Mikey tries not to think about the feeling in his chest when he thinks about that, about Frank being here with them.

Free from Ray’s clutches, Gerard finally notices the stranger in his doorway. He whips his head and turns to stare accusingly at Mikey, leaning closer to him to whisper his next words.

“Where did you get that child?” He whispers frantically. Mikey looks at Frank’s short frame, thinks about how stupid his brother can be, and realizes just how entertaining this could be.

“In the alley by The Phoenix, could you help us figure out where he lives?” Mikey replies. He keeps his tone honest and pleading, using his eyes in the way he knows Gerard can’t resist. Plus, his brother is actually very fond of children, he just wasn’t expecting one to show up on his doorstep this fine afternoon. This is going to be great.

Mikey watches Gerard think it over quickly before nodding firmly and squaring his shoulders as if he’s preparing for battle. Frank has been watching this whole conversation, still looking nervous, and the whispering probably wasn’t helping. Mikey smiles reassuringly at Frank, and some of the tension seems to leave his shoulders. Does he really already have that much of an effect on him? He shoves that thought down firmly, not the point right now, right now is showtime. He leans back leisurely as Gerard makes his way over to Frank in his classic Reassuring Older Brother stance.

“Hey little guy, did you lose your parents? Do you know your address?” Gerard asks earnestly, keeping his frame as unintimidating as possible. Mikey is desperately fighting back laughter as he sees the shock and then pure annoyance take over Frank’s face.

“I’m 18, you greasy shit! And I’m not that short!” Frank shouts. Mikey loses his battle and starts snickering. Gerard reels back like he was slapped and then whirls around to point accusingly at Mikey.

“You fucker! Mikey, I told you to stop playing pranks on your hookups, only you find them funny!” Gerard shouts, blushing to the roots of his hair. Frank looks red from anger, and Mikey thinks he’s probably turning red from how hard he’s laughing.

“I’m not-“ Frank starts, but Mikey cuts him off.

“Exactly, I find them funny. But actually, he’s a- he’s a friend, and we do need your help,” Mikey explains. Gerard is still glaring at him. Frank stomps into the apartment and walks up to him. Mikey internally congratulates himself at successfully making Frank annoyed enough to be more comfortable. Plus, he looks adorable when he’s mad.

“I do not look like a child,” he says. He’s staring at Mikey accusingly when Gerard makes a strangled noise from behind them.

“Is that?” Gerard starts.

“A handprint? Yes. Mikey was getting to know Frank here and decided to leave a mark apparently,” Ray says, not even looking up from his chopping. Mikey holds up his still-pink palm proudly and Gerard looks vaguely scandalized. “That’s actually why we’re here, Mikey and Frank are idiots, and I am a genius that remembered you get random shit out of your clothes all the time.”

Gerard squints at Frank’s ass for a moment, mulling it over, before nodding and sticking out his hand.

“Drop your pants,” Gerard says. Frank squawks and stumbles backwards, sticking his hands out protectively in front of him.

“No! What? Can’t we just… wipe at it or something?” Frank says.

“Nope, it has to soak in my magic liquid, so I need your pants. You can borrow a pair from one of us if you don’t want Mikey to see your boxers,” Gerard wrinkles his nose, “yet.”

Mikey is just thinking about how he’s going to put ice cubes in Gerard’s bed tonight when Frank snorts.

“That’s nice but my thighs uh, they wouldn’t exactly fit into any of your clothes.” Frank says, patting his right thigh proudly. Gerard seems to look down at his own thighs, before staring at Mikey’s and then shrugging and sticking his hand out again.

Then you’re stuck in your boxers if you want that handprint off of your ass.” Gerard says, looking slightly impatient at Frank’s reluctance to drop his pants.

“I, uh, I’m not wearing boxers,” Frank manages while blushing fiercely. Mikey raises one eyebrow as Frank avoids both of their gazes.

“Dude, are you going commando?” Ray asks while grabbing the bread out of the cabinet.

“It’s called a dance belt?” At their blank stares Frank sighs and continues, “it’s kind of, a thong.” Gerard drops his hand and squints curiously at Frank. Mikey is fairly sure the room just got a few degrees warmer.

“Are you a dancer?” Gerard asks.

“Yeah, I just came from a show? That’s why,” Frank waves his hand around his face, the makeup bright if not a bit smudged, “dance belts are just necessary, okay?”

“Why?” Gerard cocks his head and leans forward a bit. Mikey is once again trying not to laugh; his brother gets very focused when he’s curious about something and Frank looks like he wants to melt into the floor with embarrassment.

“Well, when you’re moving around a lot, there’s uh, jiggling and the belt just holds it all in place.” Frank says. Gerard snaps his fingers in a classic “aha!” moment.

“A dick sling!” Gerard says proudly. Mikey snickers and Frank looks at him with a betrayed expression.

“That’s… one way to put it,” he says, looking disgruntled. Mikey decides to actually try to be helpful for a moment, even if this is incredibly entertaining.

“You have that big bag; don’t you have anything you can wear in there?” Mikey asks, gesturing with his head lightly. Frank tilts his head and hums for a moment.

“I have a pair of warm-up shorts, but they’re really small.”

“Well, you said it’s really important, right?” Ray asks and Frank nods in agreement. Ray comes around the kitchen counter before continuing, “dude we may have just met but I promise that while the three of us mess around nobody’s gonna judge you, you met me wearing pajamas and Gerard hasn’t even changed in two days, plus we promised that Gerard could help out.” Ray is using his sensible tone that nobody can ever resist, and Mikey knows that Frank is going to give in.

“Yeah alright, thank you, where’s the bathroom?” Frank asks.

Gerard shows Frank where the bathroom is and Mikey can hear him chanting “GIMME YOUR PANTS” through the locked door down the hallway. Ray brings the plate of sandwiches over to the coffee table and sits down on half of the giant beanbag next to the shitty loveseat Mikey is sitting on, giving him a look that Mikey doesn’t particularly like.

“He’s different.” Ray says, folding his hands and leaning towards Mikey.

“He sure is an interesting guy,” Mikey replies, dodging the unsaid question.

“And you like him.” Ray’s eyes are honest and perceiving, and Mikey can’t breathe.

“He’s pretty.” Fuck, he barely knows what he’s even thinking, and Ray can see through him this easily? He’s practically another brother, but Mikey likes to think he’s at least a little good at concealing his emotions when he wants to.

“Sure,” Ray says, looking like he’s about to continue when Frank walks back into the room.

He’s saying something, but Mikey doesn’t hear a single word. His attention is captured by the strong and sharp lines of the muscles in Frank’s thighs. Frank wasn’t kidding, the shorts are so short that the elastic is tight around the top of his thighs and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. His thighs are practically bulging with muscle yet also they look toned and lean, elegant. The lines are smooth and encourage Mikey’s eyes to trace a path from the curve of the muscle at the top of his thighs down to his calves that look like they were chiseled from stone. Mikey desperately longs to touch, to press, to trace lines across the years of work worn into his very being. He’s so pretty it’s painful, and he’s so earnest that it aches.

When Mikey zones back in, Ray and Frank are talking about the sandwiches Ray made. Gerard wanders back into the room, getting distracted by something along the way, before sitting down on the beanbag with Ray and grabbing a sandwich.

Which means that the only place Frank has left to sit is next to Mikey.

It’s fine, he can totally deal. Frank walks over and sits down and Mikey totally isn’t focusing on the matter of inches between them, or the way that if he shifted just slightly, he could brush against those beautiful thighs. Frank looks nervous but Frank always looks nervous, plus Mikey knows he’s attracted to him. Mikey’s not nervous. Mikey never gets nervous, he makes friends and get casual sex easily, people are never this nerve wracking.

Fuck, he’s totally nervous.

Frank glances at Mikey from the corner of his eyes as he’s chewing at a bite of the sandwich and Mikey is drawn to his lips, the fading lipstick whispering at him to just lean a little closer. There’s a crumb at the corner of his mouth that makes Mikey’s fingers twitch with his want to wipe it away, to touch him so gently they would both wonder if he had ever touched him at all. Mikey finally manages to look back into his eyes and his pupils have expanded, the room feeling smaller than before. It feels like it could just be the two of them looking into each other’s eyes for the rest of time.

The moment breaks when Gerard throws a Wii remote at Mikey’s shoulder. Mikey turns and is preparing to throw it back when he realizes that Ray is setting up Mario Kart, and really Mikey was staring into Frank’s eyes for a bit too long to be casual.

“I’m going to destroy you,” Mikey tells Frank. Frank is staring down at his own remote and holding it entirely wrong.

“Uh, could you wait until after you tell me how to play?” Frank asks, grinning sheepishly. Well shit, maybe declaring war on a newbie wasn’t exactly nice, but in his defense he didn’t know.

Gerard gets a wild look in his eyes when he hears that Frank has never played Mario Kart and immediately launches into a tirade about how it’s mechanics are great, even if the developers fixed some of the code that used to allow racers to do ridiculous shortcuts. Ray is simply ignoring all of them and is setting up the game, changing all the difficulties back to normal since they have fresh meat playing with them. The three of them are usually incredibly competitive, playing on 150cc and with the worst AI bots and item drops. So maybe Frank has absolutely no chance of winning, but he probably knows that already from the look in Gerard’s eyes.

Except when Mikey looks back at Frank expecting to see a look of confusion on his face, he sees sheer determination across his features. Well, looks like he might be just as competitive as they are. It’s a shame really that he’s going to be absolutely destroyed by the rest of them. He can’t wait to see Frank’s annoyed face when he loses.

Mikey picks Princess Peach with a bike for his combo as he always does, with Gerard playing Daisy so they’re a duo. Mikey thinks back to when the two of them discovered that in the manual for this particular edition of Mario Kart, the two girls are referred to as siblings. Ever since that day the two of them have not played any other characters, fiercely fighting each other into the ground with matching grins. When Mikey came out, Gerard offered to switch to male siblings but Mikey said it was fine, it was tradition. Mikey hasn’t told anyone that he likes playing Peach because part of him misses dresses. It’s fine, Mikey is a man, it’s not his place. He’ll just live on in dresses through Peach and Daisy, even if part of him longs for more. Ray picks Luigi as he usually does, he always says that nobody else ever plays the poor guy so he might as well give him a chance. Mikey personally thinks that Ray just likes the hat.

Gerard has successfully taught Frank how to at least operate the basic controls and Frank is deliberating over which character to choose. Mikey thinks that he’ll probably pick Rosalina, or another character known for their elegance, as the boy spends so much of his time trying to be beautiful (and succeeding). Instead, Frank surprises him by picking the least likely character he thought the kind boy would pick. Mikey internally thinks it’s pretty adorable that he picks the twin character to Ray’s, that somehow Frank is just instinctively completing their group and making their characters a set of two pairs, a silly little family. But also, Mikey is not a sappy bitch, and it’s still an absurd character.

“Fucking Waluigi?” Mikey says incredulously. “That weasel?”

“I think he looks spindly and dangerous,” Frank replies proudly. Gerard laughs a little and when Frank looks offended, he makes a “duh” expression.

“He just has a mustache and causes problems,” Gerard says.

“Actually, Mr. Penis Stunt, I think it fits perfectly,” Mikey proclaims. Frank puffs out his chest a bit at that, even if he is blushing at the reminder of his ridiculous stunt earlier. Mikey tries desperately not to get distracted by the line of his shoulders.

“Don’t ask,” Ray says before Gerard can even open his mouth.

“I told you it wasn’t kinky, Ray.” Mikey says, exasperated. Really, he has no interest in sharing his sex life with Ray, and especially not Gerard.

“Just stop talking!” Gerard squeaks, slamming his hands over his ears. Frank’s blush has only gotten worse and Mikey would really like to stop talking and start destroying people at Mario Kart, so he leans over to Ray’s remote and hits “Start.”

There are some shouts of protest, Ray smacking Mikey in the side of the head, but his plan works and everyone shuts up and starts racing fairly quickly. Like usual, Gerard and Mikey are swapping 1st and 2nd place back and forth fairly quickly, with Ray not far behind. What’s not usual is Frank swearing next to Mikey as he continuously swerves into bushes and gets green-shelled by shells he can physically see on the screen.

Mikey thinks that maybe Frank is a bit dumb, but he also recognizes that he has been playing this game for as long as he can remember and therefore can’t actually remember how difficult it was to learn. Now it’s just like breathing, or like Mikey’s actual driving. He still doesn’t understand why Gerard refuses to let him drive the car. Honestly, Mario Kart is a great measure of driving skill.

He’s contemplating how exactly he’s going to prank Gerard tomorrow for throwing a banana at him when he notices something. Frank has managed to claw his way up 5th place somehow, shit, maybe he is good at this game. There’s something else though, something niggling at the back of Mikey’s brain that he really should notice and pay attention to about Frank’s screen. Oh.

He has a bullet bike. In 5th place. Fuck.

It’s at that exact moment that Ray notices the same exact thing and being the helpful friend he is, who also understands the consequences of his next action, informs Frank to press the “A” button on his remote. Gerard immediately realizes what Ray has done and a desperate scream of “No!” tears out of his mouth as Frank’s finger pushes down on the clear circular key.

Waluigi lets out a cheer on the small screen and the bullet bike roars past Peach and Daisy’s battling forms.

“Oh fuck, I just passed you guys!” Frank shouts victoriously. Gerard is grumbling furiously and fighting to catch up and Ray just laughs next to him. Ray is evil.

Mikey knows what he must do. He must use his powers of seduction for evil, for the victory of his brother and therefore his bloodline. Steeling himself, he aligns Peach on a conveniently straight section of the track and launches himself.

Right onto Frank’s lap.

Frank shouts in surprise, but doesn’t try to push him off, just as Mikey planned. Mikey can vaguely hear Gerard grumbling about his eyes in the background, but his focus is entirely on the feeling of Frank’s warm, strong thighs flexing beneath him. Mikey looks innocently up at Frank from his lap, using his best pleading eyes to distract him from his racing. Frank has a flush high on his cheeks and he’s staring straight at Mikey, his remote forgotten in his hands. Mikey can’t hear the sounds of the game anymore. All he can hear is the sound of his own heartbeat and the rustling of Frank’s shirt against his chest as he breathes.

Suddenly, Frank lunges for Mikey’s remote and rips it out of his hands, holding it high above his head and giggling as Mikey stares up at him in shock. Mikey hadn’t even been paying attention to the game anymore, but this? This is a declaration of war.

Mikey rolls and drags Frank onto the floor with him, narrowly missing the coffee table. He vaguely hears something about “flirting” and “horny brothers,” but he’s really distracted by the task of trying to wrangle the remote out of Frank's surprisingly strong grip. They’re both on their sides facing each other, tugging the remote back and forth between them, when Frank grins sharply.

Mikey may not have thought this through. Frank may be short, but he is very strong, very good with his body, and apparently very mischievous when he wants to be.

Somehow, Mikey ends up on his back, Frank above him. He’s gripping Mikey’s wrists, holding his arms down above his head. He feels flustered, raw, stripped clean of his defenses, and left wanting for his usual self-confidence in social situations.

Frank’s eyes are dilated again and he’s breathing hard from the effort of flipping Mikey. Mikey desperately wants his control back, he wants to be the one calling the shots, the one making the other flustered. He’s good at getting what he wants and making people feel good and this feeling of being caught by surprise is new and exhilarating, yet also terrifying. His thoughts are racing as this beautiful boy breathes above him, his dark hair falling towards Mikey, his brilliant eyes never once leaving his own.

Being this close to his face is distracting. He can see the white smudges within the two sharp wings of black eyeliner, brightening his eyes. There’s some highlighter brushed across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, warm eyeshadow across his lids. He’s wearing false eyelashes and Mikey suddenly realizes that there’s small pieces of fake snow still caught in them. Mikey thinks more strongly than ever that Frank really is an angel, sculpted from the stars and perfect and much too honest for him. He needs to do something, anything, to break this moment from swallowing him whole. He isn’t ready to face this.

Mikey smirks up at Frank before slamming his knee straight into his crotch.

Frank yelps in pain and collapses sideways onto the ground, avoiding falling onto Mikey. He feels like he can breathe again as he giggles and watches Frank writhe in pain, holding his crotch in his hands while curling into a fetal position on his side. He can hear twin “ooh’s” from the pea gallery in the back, and he can see Ray and Gerard guarding their own junk in sympathy.

“Not fair! You don’t have a dick for me to punch, asshole.” Frank whines after regaining his voice, still visibly in pain. Mikey just laughs harder.

“He does that. He says it’s his vengeance for us getting born with dicks and not him. I think he just thinks pain is funny,” Gerard says. Mikey nods proudly to himself, it really is genius retribution for their genetic lottery.

“Sometimes he uses his fists,” Ray says darkly, looking harrowed at the memories.

They all continue bickering for a while about penises and what amount of pain is a justified amount of pain before Ray declares he has to go and take care of The Phoenix. Ray looks at Mikey pointedly before looking at Frank’s thighs and back, then wiggling his eyebrows, before he sprints out the door to avoid the thrown pillow. Gerard checks on the pants and says they need a bit longer, so he offers to drive Frank home so Ray can go take care of the opera house. Gerard then leaves the room, saying something about finishing up a section of his work in the time they have left before they need to go.

Suddenly, it’s just Mikey and Frank, laid on the floor side by side.

“Are you having fun?” Mikey asks quietly, almost at a whisper.

“So much,” Frank whispers back. His face is open and giving, his heart worn on his sleeve. Mikey knows that Frank wants him, felt it earlier when he kneed him in the crotch, but this moment feels too great to break with an offer of casual sex. It’s what he’s used to, what he’s comfortable with, but something about Frank makes his heart call for more. He doesn’t want to move too fast.

“I’m glad I met you,” Mikey whispers. He hears his own voice, soft and almost pleading. Somehow the two of them are only inches apart now, faces so close that Mikey can feel the gentle brush of Frank’s breath against his cheek.

Mikey wants to move closer, wants to press himself against this beautiful boy, but his desire for something more holds him back. He never wants to take this slow; he never wants to take anything slow. He doesn’t understand but all he really knows is that he wants his first kiss with Frank to be perfect. He knows there will be one, not if, but when. Something more than cheeks pressed into carpet with his older brother down the hallway, something they can both cherish and hold close for years to come. Mikey wants to treat Frank with the gentleness that the boy deserves and for the first time in Mikey’s life, he wants to experience that softness too.

When Mikey’s eyes betray him and he glances at Frank’s lips before looking back into his eyes, Frank seems to see right through him. The boy just smiles a gentle, achingly sweet and understanding smile. His eyes are warm and inviting and unexpectant and everything Mikey has ever wanted only inches away and he can’t bring himself to taint this moment with anything more than pure want for another expressed in shared breaths.

“I’m glad I met you too,” Frank whispers back.

-

Mikey watches Frank walk down the darkened sidewalk, still in his shorts but with clean (slightly damp) pants in his hands. Gerard is in the driver’s seat, sitting patiently to wait for Frank to get into his house before driving away, being the caring guy he is. Mikey knows what’s about to happen, but he isn’t ready to answer any of the questions Gerard’s going to have.

“He’s different,” Gerard says simply, echoing the words Ray spoke earlier. So matter of fact that Mikey knows not even to try to convince him otherwise.

“Yeah, yeah he is,” he replies. He watches Frank slip a key into the door and disappear into the suburban home. Mikey fears how strongly he already misses his stupid face.

“You don’t want to hook-up with him.” Gerard starts the car, not even looking at Mikey, giving him the space he just knows he needs to process this.

“No, I don’t.” Mikey accepts, admitting it not only to Gerard but to himself too.

“You like him, you properly like him,” Gerard says, mostly teasing, grinning to himself. He starts the drive home and pulls out onto the street.

“I think so,” Mikey says. He knows so, and Gerard knows so, but that’s another level of terrifying to admit aloud.

“Good,” Gerard replies, checking over his shoulder, “because that boy definitely likes you.”

Mikey thinks about those words as they drive back and get ready for bed. He thinks about them as he pulls out Frank’s new contact in his phone, when he sends a small message wishing Frank a good night. He thinks about them while he’s brushing his teeth and his phone lights up, as he starts a conversation with Frank about high school pranks, as Frank tells him his favorite breeds of dogs.

He thinks about those words as he texts Frank for hours, curled up on his side in bed, holding his phone close. As they talk about childhood stories, simpler times of chalk on pavement and chalk on the bottom of Frank’s dance flats. He thinks about his fear of relationships, the fights he saw as a kid, the ease that comes with simply ignoring romance and letting yourself go physically into another person.

But then he thinks about Frank’s open, honest, earnest eyes. He thinks about the way he smiled at him earlier, like he could tell that Mikey wasn’t ready for that yet. Sex is easy but this is hard, and Mikey has never truly let himself consider trusting another person like this. He thinks to himself that the most terrifying part of this is how much he already does trust Frank. Trust is a stupid thing to give out to anyone with a pretty face and kind eyes, but Mikey doesn’t trust easily, and he judges well, and Frank has slipped past every barricade in his heart.

He thinks about those words as he remembers the way Frank had simply fit with them earlier, like the missing puzzle piece in an incomplete family. He thinks of those words as he realizes how much he cherished being able to play Mario Kart with Frank for his first time, how much joy it brought him to see him squint at the spray-paint can in confusion. He thinks of how Ray had instantly taken a liking to Frank and started treating him in the way he treats Mikey, like a little brother. How Gerard gets nervous around new people, but fell into bickering with Frank like they had done it a million times before, just like he bickers with Mikey.

He holds those words close as he closes his eyes, thinks “yes, I do like him,” and lets thoughts of bright smiles and warm laughter lull himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter should be out soon and we will see Frank perform!


	4. Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I know it's been a minute, my apologies, life has gotten rather interesting. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I don't believe there are any warnings besides some internalized transphobia from Mikey processing emotions.

Frank carefully brushes some more powder onto his slightly shiny forehead. He needs to make sure he looks properly put together for the second show that is in only ten minutes. His first role is a doll, very fun but very cardio intensive. Not only does he need to maintain a strict stiff stature, but he needs to spend most of the dance jumping as high as he can physically manage. His limbs are heavy, and he can feel the exhaustion deep in his bones. It’s like every inch of him has been stretched thin and pulled back together again, and now he has to do it for a second time of the day. Double show days are the worst, but he’s sure as fuck going to make this show better than the last.

The matinee show today had been horrible. A complete disaster. There’s always one bad show in a run that abides by Murphy’s Law; what can go wrong will go wrong. First the music cues had been off, then someone forgot to cue the kids, a prop had broken, the list goes on and on. Frank helps from the wings with some of the youngest ones, they look up to him and listen to him, and he is still cringing at the memory of seeing six year old Addie hit the floor face-first and slide a few feet on her face. She was a trooper though, getting right back up and continuing the dance, Frank’s not sure he could have. If he had wiped out that badly on stage he might have just laid there and suffered.

Frank ducks into the hallway and the sight immediately makes him regret internally complaining about his sore limbs. One of the older dancers is wiping away tears while warming up. At least he can take off his shoes between these shows, the pointe dancers leave their shoes on the whole day. They sew the shoes to their tights. Ballet doesn’t have men perform in pointe shoes, but he does practice in a pair to strengthen his arches and he can’t even imagine having to wear them for this long. After only half an hour he’s practically begging his instructors to let him take those torture devices off. They hurt so much and yet they are oh so beautiful.

Ballet is an art of suffering for beauty, no one has a truly healthy relationship with it. He doesn’t like the dancers here for their views, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t respect their dedication to the art. Everyone is tired and feels like they may collapse at any moment, yet in only a few minutes they will all run onto stage with grins on their faces to give the audience a glimpse of perfection. Ballet is simply a practice in deception. It is striving for perfection while forcing yourself to ignore any and all mortal pains to deceive the audience into believing that it is effortless. If the audience can understand even a fraction of the pain and work that a performance required, then you did it wrong.

This show does end up going much more smoothly, but there are moments when Frank is distracted by a longing in his chest. He catches himself thinking about how much better it would be to dance with people he truly liked, people he wanted to be around. During the pas de deux, as he lifts Clara into his arms over and over, he can’t help but think about how he wishes it was Mikey. Mikey grinning at him from backstage, giving him a thumbs up in the wings. Mikey’s hands in his, his body supported by Frank lifting him up for each soaring move. Mikey’s touch lingering on his own as they sweep through every longing motion. Just, Mikey.

The snow falls at the end of the first act as Frank watches from the wings and the audience cheers, but even as Frank plasters a bright grin onto his face and helps guide the kids backstage, and his body is screaming for rest, his heart still longs for Mikey. Dancers rush by him, brushing away tears and stepping on their heels to briefly spare their toes, and Frank slips by to his blissfully quiet room. They have around fifteen minutes of intermission and he already changed into his act two costume during the beginning of snow, so he gets to rest his feet and stay out of the way for a few minutes, preparing for the intensive second act.

He checks his phone quickly and tries to ignore his disappointment when he sees there are no new messages from Mikey. It’s alright. They’ve been talking constantly for the last week and hung out a few more times, but it’s only been an hour since he messaged, and Mikey has a life and is probably just busy. He settles into fifteen minutes of running through the choreography in his head as he gently hums the tunes to come.

-

Mikey stays seated for a moment as the curtains close and the lights come up over the seats. There are no easy words to describe how he feels. This was the first time he had ever seen Frank dance and he was more beautiful than Mikey could imagine. The lines of his body clad in white tights and a glittering bodice, his jumps as he soared through the air, how he made incredibly difficult movements look as easy as breathing. He’s so grateful he came to see him perform, even if it hurts.

To see the show, one he’s performed so many times before, to watch the movements he used to dance in a dress. It tears him up inside. But he’s a man now, and he’s terrified that those he loves won’t see him as one anymore if he admits how much he misses it. He knows logically that a man can wear makeup and dresses and still be a man, but he feels as though the biology of his birth is holding him back, an invisible barrier that separates him from being free to do what those born as men can do.

One specific scene gets to him now. When he was younger, he played the young Clara, and he always dreamed of playing the adult companion role. He used to beg the dancers in the role to teach him their choreography, especially the pas de deux. The duet in the first act was his favorite to do. He still knows the choreography by heart, and seeing Frank perform it tonight almost brought him to tears. To dance with Frank, he almost can’t bear imagining it. It would be a dream come true.

It doesn’t matter now. Now he has a wonderful boy to meet. One that he’s been texting so consistently that Gerard has stopped even bothering making jokes about crushes, it’s just simply a part of his routine now. He’s been distracted at work lately, asking to take the job of unboxing the jeans simply so he’s away from the customers and can respond faster to Frank’s frequent messages. So maybe he is acting like a middle schooler with a crush. For Frank, Mikey thinks that might not be a bad thing.

Gerard tugs on Mikey’s shoulder and brings him back into focus, most of the other audience members having already filtered out the doors. Gerard is bouncing on their tippy toes, hyper with the excitement that he always gets at seeing art, and they’re clutching at the flowers he demanded on buying for Frank. Ray is stretching his arms above his head and Mikey can hear the pops of his spine from his seat. He gathers his jacket from his lap and gets up to head out to greet Frank.

“Good idea Mikey, that was a great show,” Ray says as they walk out.

“I can’t believe he didn’t mention he has a main role,” Gerard says, still bouncing with excess energy.

“Yeah he’s- he’s incredible,” Mikey manages, and the three of them hit the crowd, searching for the man of the night.

-

Frank is packing up his bag when the stage manager, Sharon, pokes her head into his dressing room.

“Frank! Wonderful performance as always dear, now come out to the lobby, you’ve got some people waiting for you,” she says. Frank is taken aback, no one has come to his shows in years, even his parents didn’t bother anymore. They simply ask for progress reports from David.

“There must be a mistake,” he says, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“No mistake! Three nice looking young men, one said his name was Gerard?”

Frank is struck with pure shock. Three men, one of which is Gerard, which means Ray and Mikey are there. Mikey came to see him perform. They all came to see him perform?

He thanks her and she bustles off to harass cast members about tutu rack placement, but Frank is still reeling with the idea that they came for him. He stopped hoping years ago that someone would care enough to see him dance and now they showed up without him even needing to ask. His eyes warm and he is desperately trying to ignore the tightening in his throat, the wave of emotion swelling inside of him.

He sets his hairspray down in his bag and takes a moment to just breathe, looking into the mirror. It doesn’t look like he was on the verge of tears. That’s good. His makeup is old and crusty but mostly intact, so he won’t bother doing anything before going out to meet them. The lights are bright makeup lights to prepare performers for stage lighting, so he looks as washed-out and drawn as he feels. He’s pale and shaking, yet filled with the adrenaline of two successful shows, even if one of them felt like a complete disaster. He’s so fucking grateful they came to this show instead of the mess of the matinee performance earlier.

Well, he better go and greet them.

Steeling himself, he checks his warm-ups are in place before stepping out into the hallway and walking towards the lobby. As he gets closer to the crowd the noise is almost overwhelming. The chatter and bright bustling group are loud and cheerful, and Frank is not used to joining them, not used to having someone expecting him to be there with them.

He steps out into the light and immediately tries to scan for the boys before he gets pulled into a group photo. Luckily for him it doesn’t take very long before his eyes land on Gerard, who’s looking slightly more put-together than usual with a button-down and jeans and carrying flowers. Before Frank can really register the flowers and the other two beside him, Gerard catches sight of Frank and breaks into a run, his arms outstretched.

“Frank! Frank you were so good, fuck why didn’t you tell us you are so awesome?” Gerard asks, slamming straight into Frank and wrapping his arms around him, continuing to ramble as he squeezes Frank within an inch of his life.

“-and with that scene with the boom! And the pow! You were so fucking cool, we’re totally coming to see this again,” Gerard says, still squishing Frank and bouncing slightly.

Frank feels warm. Warm and slightly overwhelmed by the amount of praise rushing out of Gerard’s mouth. Ray and Mikey catch up to them finally and Frank catches eyes with Ray.

“Frank you were so good! But uh, Gerard, he needs to breathe,” Ray says, gently trying to pry Gerard off of Frank. Frank is determined not to cry at the affection.

His eyes land on Mikey who is watching him softly. He smiles and Mikey smiles back, giving a small wave. Gerard goes to bounce next to Ray who has a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him calm.

“You better get used to it, he does the same thing to me,” Mikey says wryly. Gerard grins sheepishly. They start to bicker as Frank thinks over his words.

Like Mikey? That means, that means that Gerard is treating Frank like Mikey. Like a little brother. Frank’s heart swells and he tries to clamp down on the emotion. He should not think of them as family, they’ve barely known each other a week. Anyways, Frank doesn’t like his family, so he isn’t exactly a good judge of character. But Gerard’s hugs are warm, and he had thrown himself into Frank with no hesitation, buried his face into his shoulder. The warmth of his affection lingers, and Frank almost wishes that Ray hadn’t pulled him away.

“Thank you for coming,” he manages, desperately trying to hide the fact that he’s overwhelmed with emotion right now. Mikey catches his eyes and smiles a soft, reassuring smile. People are moving around the four of them, but right now it feels as though they are the only ones in their world. A small bubble of warmth.

Frank’s been cold for a long time.

“Of course! We didn’t even know you had more shows this weekend until Mikey told us, of course we would want to come” Ray says.

“And it was so good we’re totally coming again, right guys?” Gerard asks, and the other two voice their agreement.

“You really don’t have to, the tickets aren’t cheap, and the show is the same thing every time,” Frank says. He feels flustered, exposed, and doesn’t want to examine just how bad he wants them to come to every single show he ever does again.

“You’re worth it,” Mikey says simply. Frank’s breath catches for a moment as he looks at Mikey and sees the light blush on his cheeks, his eyes angled to the floor. The moment lengthens, and Frank aches to hold his hand, to brush his palm gently against his cheek.

“These are for you,” Gerard says. He holds out the flowers to Frank. Frank had registered that Gerard was holding flowers but somehow it hadn’t clicked before that moment that they were for him.

“I- Thank you.”

“Of course, every artist deserves flowers for their work.”

Artist. Frank thinks back to those words just over a week ago. _How Balanchine would have wanted_. Trying to ignore the shaking in his fingers, he reaches out to take the bouquet from Gerard. It holds an array of colors, with the stems wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. It’s damp and cool against his palm he clutches the flowers tighter, reveling in the feeling of such a gift within his fingertips.

The moment breaks when Ray’s stomach grumbles and he laughs loudly, clapping his hand over his stomach. They all grin at the display as Ray blushes.

“Dinner?” Mikey asks Frank, gesturing with his head to Ray. Ray elbows him in the side playfully in response, bickering as usual.

“Um, sure yeah, I just have to go grab my stuff from backstage,” Frank replies, running through what’s left of his checkout duties. He can leave cleanup to someone else just this once, usually he stays to pick-up just to be nice to the janitors that don’t deserve the poor manners of the dancers.

“Awesome, I hope you like the delicate cuisine of the local Olive Garden,” Ray says. Frank grimaces internally but accepts the disgrace to his heritage for the sake of friendship.

“Yeah, great,” he says, slightly in pain.

Gerard snorts and darts forward to ruffle Frank’s hair, messing up the remaining gel and hairspray, and then grabs Mikey’s arm to start dragging him away. Ray looks tired while this is happening, and Frank is just shocked at the short series of events.

“See you there! Don’t be too late or we’ll eat your food losers,” Gerard calls and Mikey just waves from his position of being forcibly dragged along by his brother. Ray shakes his head fondly and Frank just stares.

“So, should I wait out here?” Ray asks, trailing off as he looks around the emptying room.

“Uh, you can, but I’m going to be coming out the backstage door around in the back-parking lot if you want to move there.”

“Sounds good.”

Ray gives Frank a quick hug and ruffles his hair just like Gerard did before heading out the front doors. Frank just touches his hair in wonder. Almost immediately from meeting them, those three just accepted Frank into their fold. What did he do to deserve this? And what about Frank made him not worth this before now?

He heads back through the side hallway to the backstage room, all the while stuck in his head and stuck thinking about the gentleness of their interactions, the ease of their affections. No one has ever cared enough to see him perform before now, and now they’re even offering to come in the future? Just because they want to see him dance. It feels as though every compliment he’s ever received from instructors pales in the wake of the raw excitement Gerard had shown, the gentle smiles from Mikey, and the hug that Ray so easily gave.

Every dance, every moment of training, every hour spent crying while his muscles ached seem worth it now. He loves dance and he will always love dance, but something in his heart shifted by the wonder in the eyes of those he actually cares about. To have his effort recognized. To have them take the time to support him without even a hint of prompting. It baffles him.

Dance is expressing emotion through movement. It’s pouring every inch of your being into every line, every note arching across your skin as you move in tandem with an art made by human skin. Frank can never be more honest then when he is nothing but movement. Words are small and weak to him where movement and lines display each breath of his soul. And today, today those three had willingly opened themselves up to knowing Frank in a way he can’t even begin to describe.

Frank steps into his dressing room and catches sight of his own reflection in the mirror, shock filling him as he brings a hand to touch at the tears rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. He can’t be crying. He never cries, he needs to stop crying.

Peeling away the false eyelashes and throwing them in the bin, he sniffles as he desperately tries to stop the outpouring of emotion. He has Ray waiting for him. They’re all waiting for him; he can’t be a fucking big baby right now. It’s just support, he shouldn’t be getting this worked up over it.

Emotion swells into his throat the more he tries to ignore it and he chokes on his breath, it seizes his lungs, blurring his vision. He sinks to his knees. The cold seeps through his thin warm-ups and into his bones. Tears drip slowly onto the floor, no matter how much he tries to wipe them away, the pitter-patter an audible reminder of his situation. He rips open his bag to grab his makeup wipes and swipes desperately at the evidence of embarrassing emotions, the proof of his weaknesses.

He bites down on his own tongue in an attempt to shock himself into complacency and screams a muffled scream at himself, at the pitiful person he is to be this emotional over acts of fucking friendship.

Deep breaths. In, and out.

He brings his hands into fists and grinds his knuckles into the unforgiving floor. Again.

In.

Out.

The tears begin to slow, and he shakily gets to his feet, scrubbing at his face with his hands and swiping at the mess on his floor with his shoes. A look in the mirror shows red and puffy eyes, so he quickly splashes some cold water onto himself and attempts to wipe away the remaining traces of makeup. Running a wet hand through his hair and patting himself on the cheeks, he blows out a huge sigh of air and attempts to steady his racing heartbeat.

After a moment he deems himself as put together as he can be and also much too late to be polite. He shoves his makeup wipes and the last of his scattered things into his bag and slings it over his shoulder, turning to the door. One hand on the doorknob, he pauses.

You can do this, he thinks. Deep breaths. One step at a time. He turns the knob, the cold steel comforting beneath the press of his fingertips.

Stepping into the hallway he winces at the sight of cleanup being almost done. That means it must have been at least ten minutes since he left Ray to gather his things. He hurries past the backstage moms and quickly scribbles his name onto the sign-out sheet, as if it even really matters, he’s eighteen for fucks sake. Sadly, if he doesn’t sign out (which he has done before out of spite), then he always gets an angry call twenty minutes after leaving and thirty pushups at the start of the next class. Assholes.

A pause. Noticing something left on the sale shelf, he takes what he needs, slipping it quickly into his bag.

He steps out into the cool night air, the breeze nice on his still-heated cheeks. Hopefully, Ray won’t be able to tell he was crying, that would be embarrassing. He doesn’t want to bother any of them, they’re being so lovely, and he just wants to enjoy a dinner with his friends. Plus, he doesn’t want Mikey to think he’s a wuss or anything. That would suck.

“Over here!” Ray calls.

Frank turns to see Ray grinning with his head stuck out the window of his car. With its scrapes and stickers, Frank thinks it looks safe, like comfort. He makes his way over and hops into the passenger seat, hugging his bag on his lap, the weight giving him the illusion of defense.

“Hey, sorry for taking forever,” he apologizes, looking down and away.

“This is your night man, it’s no problem,” Ray replies. Frank nods in response.

The moment stretches. Frank waits for the car to start, but it doesn’t. Ray taps his fingers on the steering wheel to a beat in his head and Frank waits for the inevitable question.

“Are you alright?” Ray asks, so gently, oh so gently. Frank swallows before plastering on a smile and turning to look at him, willing Ray to believe his façade.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Frank can see in Ray’s eyes that he doesn’t believe him, not even a little.

“You’ve been crying.” Not a question, a statement. Damn he’s good. He’s good and Frank is so fucked. He really didn’t want to be a burden, and now Ray probably feels like he has to take care of Frank’s whiny ass.

“Uh, aren’t Mikey and Gerard waiting for us?” He replies. Come on Ray, take the hint. But Ray is too good of a person, too good of a friend.

“Yeah but they can eat breadsticks forever, y’know those two.” Frank supposes that although it’s only been just over a week, he does, he does know them. That’s a terrifying thought.

“Yeah, uh it’s- I’m fine, I promise.”

Frank tries not to fiddle with the zippers on his bag too much, his little motions giving away his nervousness. This is a new and strange situation. Ray seems to actually… care?

“Do you have a makeup wipe?” Ray asks. Frank doesn’t think about the fact that Ray doesn’t wear makeup, he just takes the change in topic and digs into his bag, passing it over without a word.

“Here,” he says. Ray takes the pack and holds it for a moment. He turns it over and finds the opening, fiddling with the seal.

“If you don’t want to talk, that’s alright. But I doubt you want Mikey to notice you’ve been crying, so can I at least help you clean up a bit?” Ray asks. He seems hesitant, determined yet afraid of crossing invisible boundaries. Frank knows the feeling. Frank also knows that no one has ever been this kind, and he fights back the urge to start crying again. Maybe, maybe he can trust Ray.

Frank nods in reply, not trusting himself to speak. Ray smiles softly and peels back the flap on the package. He carefully pulls out a single wipe and smooths the edges of the flap back, so the pack is properly sealed. The care in each movement for Frank’s things makes him feel something he doesn’t quite understand. Safe? No, he feels cared for.

Ray reaches out and gently takes Frank’s chin in his left hand, squinting gently and using his right hand to press the wipe carefully onto Frank’s skin. Frank closes his eyes and lets him work. Small, smooth movements trace over the curves of his face, the pressure just barely enough to take off makeup.

He opens his eyes after a moment to see Ray squinting with a look of intense concentration and Frank lets out a small laugh.

“Hey, I’m working with the light of a streetlamp you ass,” Rays grumbles, but his eyes are laughing.

Frank sees those eyes, those gentle, laughing eyes. He hears those light words and feels the careful touches on his skin. The gentle hold of his chin.

A leap of faith.

“I don’t understand this,” he whispers. Ray pauses his movements and looks at him to continue.

“No one has ever come to see me dance before, and- and you guys did? And I didn’t even have to ask? I just- I don’t understand this.” The words tumble out of his mouth, released in the safety of the moment.

“We came because you’re our friend,” Ray says earnestly.

“Why?” He asks. He needs to know.

“Why what?” Ray’s forehead crinkles and he looks confused. Isn’t Frank being clear?

“Why are you my friend?”

Ray pulls back a bit. Frank has messed up. He’s messed up, he went too far, and now this is going to fall apart. Ray puts down the wipe and wipes his palms on his jeans. He looks deep in thought, the yellow light casting him in a gentle glow.

“You haven’t had good people around you, have you? Have you ever had real friends Frank?”

Frank looks away in shame, his face heating. All he knows is the other dancers, people who don’t even know he’s gay, he’s fucking pitiful. Ray sighs heavily.

“Man you- Fuck- You’re my friend because you’re Frank,” the words hit him, and he turns to look at Ray while he speaks, “you’re my friend because you give great hugs, and you make stupid puns that makes Gerard do his stupid laugh and- and you make Mikey smile more then he ever has, you encourage me without even thinking about it, and fuck man you’re just- you’re just fucking wonderful.”

Ray looks so open and honest and hopeful and Frank fucking breaks. He starts crying again and can’t seem to stop and he doesn’t even care because Ray is safe. He is safe.

He laughs at Ray’s distraught expression and wipes at the tears steadily streaming down his face.

“I’m so fucking lucky to know you,” he says through the tears. The words are cracked and raw and Ray melts.

“Can I hug you?” Ray asks, practically pleading. Frank nods, hands still held to his face.

Ray lunges forward and wraps his arms around Frank, bringing one hand to hold the back of his head against his chest. That movement just makes Frank cry harder and he grips at Ray’s t-shirt, his forehead pressed into the solid warmth. He feels so safe, so fucking cared for. Every emotion he felt earlier has returned and multiplied except this time it’s wonderful and everything he has ever wanted or needed.

“I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere,” Ray whispers into the top of his head and Frank just melts more into the hug.

“Thank you,” Frank manages. The words are muffled by Ray’s chest, but he can tell they were heard because Ray tightens his grip just slightly.

“This is what friends do,” Ray replies.

Those words slam into Frank and he desperately tries to just breathe. Just breathe into the soft fabric of Ray’s old band t-shirt and the slightly musty smell of the old car. Soaking in this warmth being offered, this _friendship_.

The tears slow, then stop, and after a while Frank pulls back. Ray wordlessly hands him a tissue, the fucking saint he is. Frank is so going to learn how to bake cookies so he can give his _friend_ a gift.

They’re quiet for a bit until Frank’s stomach rumbles loudly. Ray laughs and leans down to eye level with the culprit.

“Me too buddy, me too,” he says, very seriously, to Frank’s stomach.

The deadpan delivery gets to Frank and he fucking cackles, bending in half with how hard he’s laughing. He feels loose and giggly and silly and Ray is a fucking wonderful dumbass. His _friend_ is a wonderful dumbass.

“Oh, shut up,” he manages out between laughter.

“Excuse you, I was talking to someone,” Ray says offended, crossing his arms over his chest. Ray realizes a second later he just pressed his arms into the patch of snot and tears left by Frank and his expression twists in disgust, grabbing the tissues to scrub at his arms.

Frank starts giggling uncontrollably at his face and is gasping for air when Ray swats him.

“Don’t laugh at my misery!” He exclaims.

“I’m going to tell them you peed yourself,” Frank replies.

“What- How would I pee my shirt, Frank?” Ray shouts.

Frank holds up a hand dramatically and forces his expression to be as serious as possible. He gestures for Ray to lean close. Ray glares at him but does after a moment, and Frank tries to stifle a grin.

“Nipples!” He shouts directly into Ray’s ear. Ray looks incredibly concerned.

“What the fuck is wrong with your nipples?” Ray asks.

“Excuse you, it is normal for there to be discharge from nipples, it happens to the girls in class all the time,” Frank says haughtily. Suck on that, Ray.

“For breasts dude, also never this much? Do your nipples leak?”

“No, I just- Shut up,” Frank replies. He’s never had nipple discharge, has he? Does he have weird nipples?

“Because if they do that’s fine you just need a doctor, like, now,” Rays says, staring at Frank’s chest.

“Dude, stop trying to look at my nipples!”

“I’m concerned about my friend that apparently has leaking nipples!”

“My nipples do not leak”

“Then why did you think mine could?”

“It was a stupid joke!”

“Leaky nipples Frank, you have leaky fucking nipples, what the fuck?”

“Stop talking about my nipples like they’re faucets!” Frank puts his forehead in his palm and Ray cracks up.

“Oh, Mikey is so going to hear about your nipples,” Ray says, grinning evilly.

Frank thinks for a moment about how the fuck he can respond to that without Ray winning.

“If I had leaky nipples, I’d let Mikey do more than hear about them any day.” Frank says entirely deadpan. Ray freezes in horror and Frank just laughs and laughs.

As they drive to Olive Garden, they continue to argue about leaky nipples the whole way, and Frank realizes a few minutes later that his chest hurts from laughter and his tears are from joy now. Ray is a really fucking good friend. He has good friends now. They care about him; they really care about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you and I hope you're alright. Stay strong!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
